


Favorite Seconds

by KrisseyCrystal (IceCreAMS)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aftercare, Bottom Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Fluff, Light BDSM, M/M, Post-Coital Cuddling, Top Sylvain Jose Gautier, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26330683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceCreAMS/pseuds/KrisseyCrystal
Summary: There is warmth in Sylvain’s embrace, a counterpoint to the pound of Felix’s heart in his chest.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	Favorite Seconds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oliver__Niko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver__Niko/gifts).



And there, at the peak moment of his sigh, as his shoulders begin to sag back onto the sheets, Felix’s shape is at its most handsomely pronounced. There was an art class Sylvain had once taken as a child, one of the many stones tossed into the pool of his life that has since slowly sunk forgotten to the floor. He remembers so vividly, however, how the instructor reduced everyday things and people into the simplest of shapes: cubes and spheres and pyramids.

Something about the falling curve of Felix’s torso reminds him of that. 

Sylvain half-thinks that those few seconds where Felix is conscious of nothing at all but breathing are some of his favorite seconds in the world. 

He rocks back onto his haunches—feels the tiny shudder that runs up Felix’s form as he does—and slowly runs his hands up along his sides. Every line of Felix he touches, he can feel the tiny tremors underneath like after-pulses; his nerves are still jumping, racing. He traces the swell of Felix’s ribs and shoulders. Finds every dip and arch of his muscles and revels.

It is everything that makes Felix _Felix._

Wonderful.

“Hello again, handsome. How are we doing?” Sylvain asks in the following quiet and presses a kiss to his stomach.

Felix licks his lips and Sylvain fights the urge to lean up and kiss them, too. They are bitten and red, red, red. “Okay. Good.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Sylvain isn’t able to keep the grin out of his voice. Gently, he eases Felix’s legs down on either side. He rubs those pearly, familiar thighs—once—twice—over and over again as color returns to Felix’s face. “Feeling okay enough for me to get your wrists, now?”

Felix clears his throat and nods. “Thank you.”

The right binding comes off with practiced ease. Sylvain cups Felix’s elbow as his thumb rubs circles into the tender inside of his wrist. He gives the same attentive care for the left but decides to give that wrist an extra gift for waiting. He places a kiss over the faded blue outline of Felix’s veins.

“Sylvain—”

“—sorry. Can’t help it.” Sylvain’s murmur is lost into his skin. He gives more kisses: an entire string of them up Felix’s arm and around his shoulder. Felix’s breath threads thin. Shaky. “Does anything hurt?”

“Well, I’m sore. Obviously.” Felix huffs, but there is fondness in his tone. “But that should be no surprise. No. I’m fine. Nothing that rest won’t fix.”

“Excellent.” 

Sylvain unties the blindfold last. 

Felix’s bangs are a sweaty mess, sticking to the fabric as he pulls it away. Tenderly, gently, Sylvain pushes them back and sets the blindfold onto the end table beside the bindings. “And there they are; those pretty little ambers.”

Felix rolls said eyes and settles himself more comfortably on his back. His left leg rocks up again with an idle rotation of his heel. It bumps against Sylvain’s side. Sylvain loves the lazy intimacy of these moments best, he thinks: the lethargic warmth that can so often follow a round of rough, quick sex. 

“Must you always get like this?”

“Get like what?”

“Sappy. Honey-eyed.”

“How can I not be when I’m looking at you?” Sylvain doesn’t miss a beat. 

He cups the side of Felix’s head and kisses his cheek, his temple, that spot between his furrowed eyebrows, and then the tip of his nose. He kisses and he kisses and he kisses until Felix finally huffs—it sounds a little like a laugh, but Felix would probably deny it—and presses a hand into his chest. “All right, all right. I’ve got the sentiment. You can stop that now. I love you, too. Now, please, let’s wipe up, already. We will both rest better once we are clean.”

“Aye-aye, sir.” Sylvain chuckles. He wraps his arms around Felix and squeezes before finally pulling away.

* * *

There is warmth in Sylvain’s embrace, a counterpoint to the pound of Felix’s heart in his chest. There is something else, too, in the way that every time, without fail, Sylvain takes the pieces of him up after an intense round of sex and tells him that he is whole. And that sacred something is infinitely more cherishable in the dark, somehow.

Felix has always thought this. 

He is a swordsman first and everything else second, which perhaps explains why he appreciates the shadows. With the Professor’s guidance, Felix has improved on using them to his advantage. He has gotten better about appreciating how the darkness can give him an advantage over his enemies.

He has not before made the connection to _trust_ and _darkness_ until this moment, however.

Lying between Sylvain’s arms, Felix traces the curve of his own wrists. There are faint imprints in his skin from where the bindings had dug in the hardest. Those moments where he had been gasping and arching and pulling— 

He had asked to be blindfolded through it. That had been his idea, too.

And Sylvain had gone through with it and done everything he asked. 

Hm. 

“Sylvain.”

“Mm.”

Felix rolls over. Sylvain’s arms tighten around him—like a tiny flinch—but Felix has never, not once, thought about leaving them. His dark hair splays out over the pillow; a lock of it is curled in front of Sylvain’s nose. 

Sylvain is probably too tired to even realize it is there.

Fool. 

Or perhaps, that’s what a younger, more brash version of Felix Fraldarius would have thought and said. This five-years-older, five-years-wiser, five-years-deeper-in-love Felix, however, takes in Sylvain’s lowered walls and realizes them for what they are. He appreciates them. Never, not once, has he realized that he had been unconsciously doing the same in turn.

“Thank you.”

“F’what?”

Felix’s mouth curls at the corner. He reaches up and runs a hand through the strands of Sylvain’s red hair that curls over his cheek. Not once does Sylvain open his eyes, even though he could. Even though he has every ability.

Incredible.

“For tonight,” Felix hums.

“Mm…y’welc’me.” 

Sylvain shifts and sighs and nudges his pillow with his nose. Loosened, cherry locks fall in front of his closed eyes, dusting over his brows. “I’m always happy to…give you a _hard_ time.”

“Stop.”

Sylvain chuckles. It is sleep-heavy and sluggish. Felix presses his forehead into Sylvain’s chin and listens.

There, in the moment of Sylvain’s sigh on the tail end of his laugh, as Felix is most conscious of the weight of that strong arm over his waist, Felix thinks he is at his safest. He half-thinks those few seconds where Sylvain is conscious of nothing at all, slipping instead back into a pleasant dream, are some of his favorite seconds in the world. 

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH OLLIE FOR THE REQUEST!! <3 <3 this was so much fun to write!! i'm always honored when someone entrusts me with writing their favorite characters... <3 <3
> 
> if you want to request your own fic, check out [this tweet](https://twitter.com/kissykrissey/status/1293963906554179587?s=20) for more info!!
> 
> [tw](https://twitter.com/kissykrissey) / [tblr](https://krisseycrystal.tumblr.com/)


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